| Boy, you’d better start runnin'
|
| 'Cause Grace has a gun
|
| She’s not foolin' around, she don’t keep it for fun
|
| Make sure you approach her
|
| With a bulletproof vest
|
| 'Cause when you piss her off, she’ll aim right for your chest
|
| Whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh
|
| And when she laughs it off
|
| She plays it cool
|
| Don’t believe in her, brother, she’ll make you her fool
|
| And, damn, you can love her
|
| Above any other on earth
|
| But, boy, that won’t fix her, you’ll just make it worse
|
| Whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh
|
| And I’m warnin' you, don’t get too close
|
| She’s a time bomb that’s tickin' until she explodes
|
| And she’s haunting the halls of your head like a ghost
|
| Even still, that won’t change how you feel, I suppose
|
| Oh-oh
|
| She don’t believe in a heaven
|
| Just a body and soul
|
| And she thinks the scars on her arms mean that she’s in control
|
| You thought you could convince her
|
| That it’s all in her head
|
| 'Til you come home one night and the wall’s painted red
|
| Whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh
|
| Whoa-woah-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
|
| Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh
|
| Boy, you’d better start runnin'
|
| 'Cause Grace has a gun
|
| And she don’t even care about the damage she’s done |